The first rift of light in the sky found the judge stirring; it found him in his usual cheerful frame of mind. He disposed of his toilet and breakfast with the greatest expedition.
“Will you stroll into town with me, Solomon?” he asked, when they had eaten. Mahaffy shook his head, his air was still plainly hostile. “Then let your prayers follow me, for I'm off!” said the judge.
Ten minutes' walk brought him to the door of the city tavern, where he found Mr. Pegloe directing the activities of a small colored boy who was mopping out his bar. To him the judge made known his needs.
“Goin' to locate, are you?” said Mr. Pegloe.
“My friends urge it, sir, and I have taken the matter under consideration,” answered the judge.
“Sho, do you know any folks hereabouts?” asked Mr. Pegloe.
“Not many,” said the judge, with reserve.
“Well, the only empty house in town is right over yonder; it belongs to young Charley Norton out at Thicket Point Plantation.”
“Ah-h!” said the judge.
The house Mr. Pegloe had pointed out was a small frame building; it stood directly on the street, with a narrow porch across the front, and a shed addition at the back. The judge scuttled over to it. With his hands clasped under the tails of his coat he walked twice about the building, stopping to peer in at all the windows, then he paused and took stock of his surroundings. Over the way was Pegloe's City Tavern; farther up the street was the court-house, a square wooden box with a crib that housed a cracked bell, rising from a gable end. The judge's pulse quickened. What a location, and what a fortunate chance that Mr. Norton was the owner of this most desirable tenement.